Ours Verse 1: Desperate Times
by KeelieThompson1
Summary: aka: The Obligatory Alpha/Omega fic!) John is an omega who has been on heat suppressants his entire life. When Sherlock realises this and shows an interest in John, they have to work their way through the problems caused by John having never had a real heat in his life. Warnings for Mpreg, what could be considered dub-con, potential miscarriage. More warnings inside!
1. Desperate Times

Desperate Times

(aka: The Obligatory Alpha/Omega fic!)

Story Summary:

John is an omega who has been on heat suppressants his entire life. When Sherlock realises this and shows an interest in John, they have to work their way through the problems caused by John having never had a heat in his life.

* * *

**Warnings**

for Mpreg, what could be considered dub-con, potential miscarriage. For brief drug use and for not exploring the repurcussions of it. For a mention of underage sex. And for the genreal thinga that come hand in hand with this kind of fic!

* * *

Author's Note:

This may be the most unporny fic ever! Seriously - if that is what you're looking for, leave now! I honestly don't quite know how it happened, because it was meant to be porny but then it wasn't and it got odd.

Which, I realise is a glowing recommendation for you all to read this!

* * *

And for anyone awaiting updates: they are coming, I just got a bit stir crazy again from writing the same stories and needed a break. Love the kinkmeme :). And thanks to lutz for editing this quickly; all left over mistakes are mine!

* * *

**Desperate Times**

It's not that he had a problem with it. Sure, in his teens he had a few moments of teenage angst; moping around the house because…well…it was just the thing to do. Especially coming from what was now considered to be a 'normal' beta family where it had been a bit of a shock to discover John was an omega.

They were pretty much dying out now; the alphas and omegas. An old flaw of biology that, like the appendix would probably just fade away and cause the odd problem, but be rarely used.

Like John.

He'd had a few choices; it wasn't as if this were the cavemen ages anymore where if one was an omega they could expect to be bonked over the head and dragged off to a den somewhere and birth litters. Suppressants were easily bought, toys were available; it wasn't the end of the world. In fact he knew more omegas that never went off the heat suppressants than did and only then they were ones that had done it at a young age.

But there was always that nagging curiosity of 'what would it be like?' Not enough to make him do anything; his cousin had a baby when he was fourteen (he was the baby of their generation) and that had been more than enough to make him realise that babies just weren't for him at that age. Which, of course, meant no wild, fulfilling sex with an alpha.

Ever.

It was just easier to stay away from them. If there were any lingering resentments towards those of a different gender, it was towards the alphas who were known to go into frenzies if the mood hit them. They weren't exactly encouraged in the army because they were truly shite at team work and it put omegas at risk. Hell, it could put betas at risk if the alpha was that way inclined.

So it wasn't exactly a hardship to avoid them. And John was damn good with his tongue and hands and always made sure to find others who were equally talented.

After all, there was still no effective birth control for an omega and any kind of full penetration could potentially trigger a heat whether you were on the suppressants or not, though admittedly betas would just create a weaker pathetic version.

But John had been told by the mentor omega he'd been assigned to when he presented that it just wasn't worth it. Penetration equaled heat; heat desperation usually equaled an alpha popping along for a sniff and a leg over.

Really not worth it.

* * *

After being invalided out, John considered it; considered finding an alpha (and good god there were ads in the yellow pages for it), settling down, dating and bonding. Yet the part of him that had loved the army, loved the independence and the danger just balked at the idea.

It wouldn't be him. After a few years, when he felt more like himself again rather than this ghost version, he would hate what he had done. No kid deserved to be brought into that.

So he left it alone, walked a lot, bumped into Mike and started to solve crimes.

* * *

Why the hell John had assumed Sherlock was a beta, John had no idea. The very word refused to stick to Sherlock, like Velcro in water.

He could see Sherlock struggling. The teenagers they had rescued from an underground sex ring were only hours away from a full blown heat and he was gripping the table in an effort to stop himself from getting any closer.

"Lestrade's on his way," John said trying to keep himself in between Sherlock and the frightened teens.

"They did this on purpose," Sherlock snarled, slamming his fist on the table. "They'll be long gone by the time I'm able to function again.

"Focus," John snapped at him. "And just breathe."

"I hate breathing," Sherlock muttered petulantly before doubling over and shoving at the table hard. "For god sakes, spray them with something."

Like? John looked around helplessly and glared at one of the lads who tried to lift up his jumper. "Really?" he asked folding his arms. "You think that's the best idea right now?"

"I'm hot," came the whined reply.

"You'll be fucked if you lift that up anymore," John pointed out before turning back to Sherlock. "I can't see anything, can you?"

Sherlock groaned and turned away from them, his hair starting to matt to his forehead as one of the girls gasped and shuddered. "You have no idea what this is like," Sherlock complained.

Huh, John hadn't realised Sherlock hadn't worked it out. He'd just assumed they weren't talking about that sort of stuff…

Which admittedly they hadn't but apparently not for the reason John had thought.

Helpless, John dug into his pockets and pulled out a packet of mints. "Here," he said, tossing them to Sherlock. "Shove them under your nose."

Sherlock threw him an utterly filthy look, but seemed to accept that there was little viable alternative. Ripping at the paper he bought the packet up to his nose.

Then froze.

"What?" John groaned. "Are they not acceptable for you and your ridiculously expensive shirts? Just suck it up."

The oddest look crossed Sherlock's face as his hands shook and he closed his eyes. Then, in a frankly weird move, he ripped off all the paper and shoved it in his pocket. Then he started to crush the mints in his hands and held the mess up to his nose.

"Seven more minutes," John muttered as he looked at his text from Lestrade again. "Seven more minutes and then you can take a jab for it."

Lucky bastard.

* * *

"You're an omega," Sherlock said the next morning as he perched on his chair.

"Yep," John turned to him in surprise. "So you did know that?"

"No," Sherlock pressed his hands together and into a point under his chin. "I could smell it yesterday when you threw me the mints."

Ah, heats and heightened sense of smell. Oh, well. "Problem?" John asked lightly as he buttered his toast.

"No."

"Good."

"Are those my heat suppressors?" John asked as he walked in with the milk. Again.

Sherlock lay on the sofa sprawled out as he held the bottle up to the light, studying it with an odd lazy intent. "Yes."

"Any reason why you have them?"

"You didn't correct me," Sherlock said, ignoring the question as he jiggled the pills. "When I said you didn't know how it felt, you never corrected me."

"I'm not an alpha."

"But you are an omega," Sherlock turned his head slightly in John's direction. "Though you've never had a heat."

"I have," John corrected thinking of the weak, awful day when he'd presented. "But no, never fully fledged."

"Why?"

"Have you ever wanted to bond?" John asked dumping the milk on the table and stepping forward.

"No, people are dull," Sherlock said, as if that were the end of the matter. And for him, it probably was.

"Well…I didn't want any of that when I was young." John shrugged and snatched back the pills.

"And now?" Sherlock turned his body so his gaze could follow John.

"Now?" John considered it as he moved back into the kitchen. "Now I run around London after a madman. I'm not sure I want to give that up at the moment."

Looking satisfied by that (as only Sherlock Holmes could) Sherlock settled back with an imperious nod. "Quite right, John."

* * *

"If it were you I would consider it."

John swallowed his pasta. "Consider what?" he asked, turning a little and hating Sherlock's habit of ensuring he was the one who could see the street. "Has the suspect turned up?"

"What? Oh! No." Sherlock shook his head. "I was talking about us."

"What about us?" John asked taking a sip of water.

"Bonding."

It took everything that John had to ensure he swallowed calmly and didn't spit his drink all over Sherlock.

"Why?" John asked blankly.

"You aren't dull."

What the hell was he meant to do with that? "Thanks. But no. Can you imagine, you and me bonded and raising a family. The world would be doomed within a week."

"The world's boring," Sherlock said, sitting back and suddenly focusing all of his attention on John. "I can only imagine any offspring we had would improve it tremendously. Maybe balance out Mycroft's inane attitude."

John smiled and went to eat another mouthful, then paused when Sherlock kept staring at him. "Wait…are you being serious?"

"Why on earth would I be joking?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Because… I…we…" John sat back, trying to work it out. "I'm not sure," he admitted slowly. "Maybe because we're on a case."

"It's dull," Sherlock peered out the window again. "Predictable. I can multitask."

"Okay," John slowly put his cutlery down. "What are you asking me?"

"To bear my progeny. You are physically talented and relatively intelligent. I am supremely gifted in a number of ways. Our genes should produce almost bearable children."

It was hard to know whether to concentrate on the fact that he was 'relatively intelligent' or that Sherlock had called himself 'supremely gifted'. As it was, John could feel a laugh threatening which he swallowed back. "That's…deeply romantic, Sherlock. Thank you."

A worrying amount of genuine confusion showed in Sherlock's face. "I have bought you dinner have I not? Provided sustenance and paid all the rent last month. I tidied the kitchen-"

"You put the cups in the sink," John corrected as a strange dawning comprehension threatened.

"And allowed you to sleep even though I needed your opinion on a gun wound." Sherlock threw up his hands as if John were being the difficult one. "What more do you want?"

Oh god, he was going to have to say it. "Uh…genuine affection?"

"I cleaned," Sherlock repeated as if John were utterly stupid.

"You put the cups in the sink," John repeated, punctuating the words with his finger. "You moved things around, you did not clean."

Sherlock squirmed.

Actually squirmed.

Then made an odd noise and walked out.

The waiter eyed John up dangerously.

"He hasn't paid for this yet, has he?" John asked with a sigh, before digging out his wallet.

* * *

There was something very wrong.

John stared at the roses.

Very, very wrong.

There were candles everywhere and the place reeked of some expensive perfume that John had smelt on occasion when in Regent Street. Soft music was playing and all in all it looked like something out of a teenager's fantasy.

Sherlock had gone mad.

Not really knowing how to even start the sentence, John just settled for circling a finger around to indicate the room and raised a questioning brow.

"You wanted affection," Sherlock looked vaguely peeved.

"Oh, if you're gonna take the piss just go to hell," John muttered as he turned on his heel and stormed off upstairs.

* * *

It was almost midnight when John left his room to nip to the loo and stumbled over Sherlock who was sitting against the wall opposite his door in the hallway.

"What are you doing?" John asked, yawning.

"What is your objection?" Sherlock snapped. "I have done everything required. I have courted you, I have shown that I can provided and protect. I have shown a vast amount of control and I have listened to what you wanted and yet still you are acting as if I am being unreasonable."

"Sherlock, I am not your baby machine," John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Flattering though it is you want me to be your womb-"

"What?" Sherlock pulled a face. "Why would I want that?"

John stared down at him and then sighed. "I'm too tired for this, I need to piss and then I'm going to sleep." He moved past him and yanked open the bathroom door.

"Oh," Sherlock sounded as if he had just had an epiphany. "John-"

John slammed the door behind him.

* * *

When he got out, Sherlock had gone.

* * *

John was eating his breakfast at the desk and watching the television when Sherlock thudded down a huge tome that made him jump. The damn thing looked like a film prop it was so dusty.

"And that is?"

"A book."

It was going to one of _those_ days apparently.

"A book about?" John queried, shovelling up his cereal.

"Alphas. The reasons behind the 'outdated' and 'unfashionable' rituals that society seems to hate now." Sherlock's face was a picture; a half sneer of the ineptitude of the general populace and half uncomfortable twitch at the topic.

John glanced up at Sherlock. "What is there to know? We have heats, we shag for days and then we have a baby. It's hardly difficult."

"How are you a doctor?"

John picked up his bowl. "I don't cater to alphas, Sherlock. Apparently it's not wise for an omega to do so and you yourself whine about people who learn unnecessary things."

"You never intended to mate?"

"I…" John hesitated and then kept going for the sink. "I don't know. I rarely meet alphas. You're all a bit…rare."

"Not as rare as you might think," Sherlock said, following him to the kitchen. "I assumed you knew…we are possessive."

"Yes, the great cup debate with Lestrade attests to that," John muttered, running the tap.

"It was not-" Sherlock broke himself off. "It was my cup."

And there was his point!

"Besides," Sherlock dismissed. "You are of more use than a cup."

Flattery, John sighed, wasn't everything it was cracked up to be. "Sherlock," he turned and braced his wet hands against the counter. "For once in your life, can you just tell me what it is that is on your mind and stop assuming that I'll make the great intuitive leaps you make on an hourly basis?"

"Hourly?" Sherlock asked, sounding rather affronted.

John glared.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock, with very careful movements, sat in the chair and placed his hands upon the wooden top of the table. "I made it very clear John. I asked if you wanted to bond with me and then added children to the equation. Why you thought it was the other way round is frankly bizarre-"

"No you didn't," John said scrubbing his damp hand over his mouth. "You started talking about kids-"

"I was continuing on an earlier conversation I had conducted with you about your sexual history," Sherlock said, glancing at John's lips and then staring fixatedly at his own hands.

"Three weeks before hand?" John yelped. "I-" suddenly his mind caught up. "Wait…so…you want to uh-"

"Bond with you," Sherlock stared at his hands still. "Yes."

"Why?" John hated the sheer incredulity in his voice, knowing that it made him sound like some dreadful damsel in distress.

"You are interesting, I want to spend time with you. When you are not around I text you to ensure you are returning as soon as possible. You make me smile and lately I have been having very vivid day dreams about the sounds you might make when you orgasm."

John felt his jaw drop.

"Those…that…that's…good," he said, slightly taken aback. "So…it's me, not some vague hope that I might help your genes along?"

"That too," Sherlock added with a slight incline of his head.

Slowly, half sure he was dreaming, John sat opposite him. As he opened his mouth, Sherlock sniffed. "Of course, I was under the impression that you knew about alpha traits and…shall we call them quirks. As it turns out, unsurprisingly, your family was hideous at preparing you-"

"Sherlock," John said, suddenly tired. "Just tell me what it is I'm supposed to know."

"We are possessive," Sherlock started to trace a pattern into the table. "It is why we tend to avoid physical proximity as such encounters can lead to a very quick possessive urge to protect and claim."

"You haven't touched me at all since you realised I was an omega," John muttered slowly. "Because-"

"I did not want to risk my biology taking over," Sherlock didn't look at him.

"And when you say possessive-"

"Jealous, demanding. Close to a heat I will likely become aggressive to anyone who comes too close to you. If you were with child I would certainly be territorial. Smells, touches – I would dislike anyone replacing my own."

That sounded…claustrophobic. "What about drinking with friends?"

Sherlock pulled a face. "Not close to your heat," he said still not looking at John. "I would…you would likely have to push for it at first until I got used to it."

"And…" John sat back. "How much pushing would you let me do?"

It seemed to take Sherlock thirty seconds to work out what the question was truly asking. "I…I wouldn't hurt you. I might be rough in the heat of lust but…" he pulled a face. "The idea of hurting you is repulsive. I am meant to protect you."

That sounded…even more annoying. As if John couldn't protect himself. "So…what else?"

Sherlock took a while to answer. "We have an iron will power. To bond is to open that dam and release the flood gates. It would take a while to balance back out. My behaviour would be unpredictable, childish, sentimental."

John was pretty sure he'd seen two of those with some regularity already. "I…my mentor said that when an alpha and omega have sex it automatically triggers a heat, suppressants or no," John offered quietly.

Sherlock nodded. "They are…an experience," he said slowly.

"You've done it before?" John hated the level of curiosity in his voice.

"Yes. We are an old family. It is believed that those of a similar age should go through a heat together so that the power balance is equal and we know what to expect of our future mates." Sherlock shrugged as if it were of little consequence.

"But…" John sat back. "What about contraception?"

"There are ways during early heats," Sherlock shook his head.

"Illegal ways?" John asked.

"Most enter their first heat at fifteen or sixteen," Sherlock said slowly. "It is against the law to encourage sex in minors, despite the old traditions. People get uncomfortable at the idea of giving out contraception to those just of age or a year under. It is…the new versus the old. The new always wins."

John shifted, not really sure what to say about that. He certainly had never been aware of the possibility.

"And your heat," Sherlock sighed, "Will be strong. You have denied it for years, it will be overwhelming. Difficult for us both until your hormones settle down. It could take months."

"Of a heat?" John yelped in horror.

"No," Sherlock moved as if to look up, but at the last moment kept his gaze down. "Just irregular timings, the strength of them, the duration. It will take some time for your body to find its natural rhythm. And my reaction will be dependent on yours."

John studied him, not entirely sure why Sherlock was being so careful. "And your cases?"

"Away from your presence my biology will return to normal. Yours will not. I can leave, should I chose to."

Leave? John shifted. To be left alone, needing-

"In between," Sherlock clarified. "In-between bouts. You cannot risk being out. I can if it is necessary. If not, there is always email."

"And visits," John added, not really that bothered about the mechanics.

"No," Sherlock hissed. "No-one comes in here while you are vulnerable."

John sighed and pushed the chair back to stand. "I need…can I think? I need to-"

"Process? Yes," Sherlock nodded. "Good."

They remained in silence until John retreated from the kitchen, citing a lack of milk as his reason.

* * *

It was strange. Knowing now that Sherlock was holding himself back constantly meant that John could see it; see the occasions where emotions seeped out and peeked cautiously at the world. The way Sherlock's eyes would catalogue the people close to John and then the frown as he forced himself to turn away and let them get on with it.

He'd never really considered the possibility of Sherlock before. Oh he loved him, John knew that. Loved every inch of the madman.

But in love? In lust?

* * *

A week later, watching Sherlock almost dance around the crime scene of a serial killer, John knew his answer.

Of course he bloody was.

* * *

"With electrocution? Genius," Sherlock was still high as a kite from the case when they made it home after the arrest a few days later. "Such a simple, yet effective way. Beautiful. A craftsman John, A real-"

"Yes."

Sherlock broke off and stopped on the stairs, causing John to come to a sudden stop. If it had been anyone else, he might have just kissed the idiot, but Sherlock's warning about physical touches had stuck with him.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, turning.

John nodded.

"You could have mentioned this before we got in," Sherlock muttered. "Turn."

"Why?" John asked, even as he obeyed.

"Bonding ceremony."

Oh. Okay then. "You don't think-"

"We talked about it. I will not want to let you go. And I will be worse if I think there is a way I could have you taken away. This is better."

John hissed, almost at the door and turned to glare at Sherlock.

"Oh," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And I want to do it. Turn."

Ah, fuck it. So did he.

It had to be the weirdest proposal ever though.

* * *

John had sort of expected that they would have returned to 221b, have crazy sex and spend the rest of the week naked.

Instead, when they got back, Sherlock nodded at him and went to bed.

And locked the door.

* * *

"Would you mind it if I asked you to not take the suppressants," Sherlock asked the next morning.

"Why are we waiting?" John asked, folding up the newspaper.

"I…it will be better if they are out of your system," Sherlock said. "A week perhaps?"

This was awfully organised for Sherlock. It was slightly worrying. "And…how long before it will be hard for you to have me out of the house?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful. "Two days," he said. "But don't…don't test it." He turned to leave.

"Sherlock," John hesitated and sighed. "I…don't take this the wrong way, but you are building this up quite a lot. It's me, it doesn't have to be perfect," he said, trying to reassure his…his mate.

That felt pretty amazing to think.

Mate.

Sherlock threw him a strange look. "Of course it does. It's you," he said before he darted out the door.

Well then.

That was new.

* * *

By Wednesday John made sure they were stocked up so he didn't have to leave the house. Mrs Hudson agreed to keep some things down at hers.

Thursday he was bored stiff.

Friday he went down to chat with her and her nephew who was visiting.

* * *

The minute Sherlock came through the door he strode over to John and started sniffing.

"I didn't touch them," John said, watching the curly head as Sherlock trailed down his sleeves.

"No," Sherlock agreed, though he didn't sound pleased. "Stay up here tomorrow."

"I'll be bored," John complained.

"I doubt it," Sherlock said as he wandered off.

* * *

Saturday he woke to smells.

Part of the suppressants helped to dull his ability to smell and scent. The sudden influx wasn't nice, especially considering what was in their kitchen half the time. Queasy, John braved it and tried to find a cleaning product.

They all made him want to throw up. Too artificial, too wrong and sterile.

In the end he squirted lemon juice around the sink and onto the light bulbs. It was the only smell that was tolerable.

There was a delicious smell coming from Sherlock's room.

God only knew what he had in there.

* * *

The delicious smell suddenly erupted.

John sat up, not really paying attention to anything but the smell. It was intoxicating, it was coming closer…

Sherlock opened the door to the flat, muttering something at his phone. As if tugged by a leash, John stood up and trailed him to the kitchen.

"Do you have something in your pockets?" he asked.

"No," Sherlock didn't even look away from his phone. "Lestrade is being especially thick today and-"

John completely switched off and started to circle him, trying to work out the smell. It was thick and heady, wonderful and just begging for him to step closer and lose himself in the smell-

"It's you," John breathed in sudden realisation.

Sherlock's head whipped up so fast that John wouldn't be surprised if he'd managed to strain something. Not really thinking, John reached for his hands.

Deftly, Sherlock yanked them back and stepped away. "John," he said warily. "It's just a scent."

"It's good," John followed him. "Can you always smell like this?"

Sherlock glanced away. "Yes," he said with a long sigh.

"Have I changed?"

"I…" Sherlock seemed incredibly guarded. "Yes. You are starting to smell more like…more natural."

"A good smell?" John tried to confirm.

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "I…I have things…go to sleep," he insisted.

And with that he almost ran out the flat.

* * *

Sunday was hell.

It was too hot, then too cold. Too loud and too quiet.

He didn't get out of bed.

* * *

Monday he woke up sticky.

Really sticky.

Oh.

Squirming didn't help. Suddenly the stickiness became a burning need, a desperate want that was utterly overwhelming.

He almost crawled to the shower.

* * *

Miserable and desperate, John found Sherlock's dressing gown in the bathroom and put it on as he came out of the shower. It was soft and gentle on his sensitive skin and smelled safe; like home and danger.

He wanted Sherlock. Now.

He made it down to the kitchen and through to Sherlock's room. It was locked and the smell was slightly dimmer than it would have been if Sherlock had been in.

Almost whining, he collapsed to the floor and pressed his nose to the wood. He needed Sherlock. Needed his mate.

Where was he?

The door downstairs banged open viciously and John could dimly hear Mrs Hudson raise her voice in complaint, even as Sherlock shouted at her to leave or not complain.

Sherlock.

If he could have moved, John would have dashed over to him. As it was, he was so dazed he could barely stand.

Then strong arms grabbed at him and hauled him up to his feet, even as they tumbled forward through the suddenly open door.

Bed.

There was something different, some new things, but John didn't give a damn. Needing comfort, he just thudded onto the bed and curled up, exhausted. Moments later, Sherlock was next to him, spooning up behind him and nuzzling at his neck.

"Hot," John whined.

"You have a few hours left," Sherlock mumbled into his skin.

* * *

Somehow, he must have dozed off because when he woke he was in the full grip of a heat.

It was agony. One minute he was asleep and the next he was clawing at Sherlock, trying to tug at his clothes to yank them off.

"Please," he whispered frantically, trying to find some friction. "Please."

And Sherlock's control snapped.

The dressing gown was tugged off as Sherlock slunk down his body, fingers suddenly everywhere, stroking, petting-

Inside.

Gasping with relief, John rocked onto those perfect fingers and then wriggled trying to find the right place for-

The world went white with pleasure when Sherlock swallowed down his cock and sucked.

John barely made it five seconds before he almost screamed out an orgasm.

There was a snarl below him and his legs were spread around a slim waist. Gasping, John arched his back and bared his throat as Sherlock slid all the way in.

Sherlock bit down, tugging at John's hair to keep his throat vulnerable to Sherlock. Utterly wrecked, all he could do was try and keep up as Sherlock's thrusts became harder and thicker-

The knot.

God yes.

It was all a haze. Every single moment of it. A delicious blur of lust.

* * *

When John opened his eyes on Thursday he was finally coherent. Next to him, Sherlock was sprawled out, half on top of John as if keeping him close was his life's mission now.

They stunk of stale sex.

Which was hardly surprising given that Sherlock had constructed some sort of canopy around the bed which shut out the entire outside world.

And the fabrics….John peered at them curious. Some seemed familiar.

Behind him, Sherlock started to stir.

"Back?" Sherlock asked carefully.

John nodded and then hissed as his muscles gave him a good indicator of just how much stretching he had been doing. Beside him, Sherlock tensed, then wriggled down his back. Utterly knackered, John turned his head a little to watch what Sherlock was doing.

He almost snarled when Sherlock spread his arse cheeks. "Sore," he hissed.

Sherlock didn't say a word, but instead seemed to find some cream from the bed sheets and started to slather John's hole with it.

"You've been aware a lot longer," John mumbled, watching him.

Sherlock nodded. "Yesterday morning," he said.

"Oh god," John groaned and buried his head in the pillow. "I bet that was fun."

"Suppressors," Sherlock hissed with some distaste. "They do mess with your mind."

"Says you," John muttered.

He expected a quick comeback, but instead Sherlock sat up and spread his hands down John's back. John could have sobbed in relief when he felt those clever hands start to kneed his muscles.

"You don't have to," John mumbled.

"You are mine. You are hurt," Sherlock's fingers found a particularly aching spot.

"You also put up with a raving lunatic yesterday," John hissed when Sherlock worked out a knot.

"As have you," Sherlock stroked a hand over John's shoulder. The sudden flare of pain made him hiss. "I'm afraid I may have been a little angry about the wound."

John tried to push up, to feel the damage but Sherlock kept him against the bed. "No," Sherlock pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck. "You shouldn't move that quickly. Not yet. I appear to have bitten at the scar."

Great.

"I attempted to make it better yesterday," Sherlock confessed. "But you were…it was difficult."

"Have we eaten?" John asked quietly.

"Yesterday," Sherlock didn't sound happy. "I should have…I underestimated the effect it would have on me as well."

Well, Sherlock concerned about not eating. There was a first.

"Will it always be like that?" John asked with some trepidation.

"No," Sherlock sounded firm as he pressed a kiss to John's spine. "No. I'll…I'll keep myself under control next time. I won't-"

"Hey," John turned over and then gasped at the flare of agony that caused. Sherlock looked almost translucent in their little nests half-light. "It's fine. I'm fine. Stop beating yourself up-"

Sherlock shook his head, laying his chin on John's chest. "You were in pain," he whispered looking lost. "But…you couldn't stop and you didn't understand-"

John stroked a hand through Sherlock's hair. "You should be used to me not understanding things by now, surely?" he tried to joke.

Sherlock's lips didn't even twitch.

* * *

Sherlock was a lot more affectionate, now that the heat had passed. Little kisses over the flat and he practically attempted to suffocate John at night, in bed. Even when he wasn't sleeping.

He didn't try to be intimate though. There was a wary, worried look to him sometimes when he watched John that made John wonder just how bad the heat had been and just how awful his mental state had become.

* * *

He was pregnant.

* * *

Sherlock of course, worked it out.

They were in bed, Sherlock trying to wriggle around him in a manner that had John roll his eyes and sigh pointedly. As if to annoy him further, Sherlock fidgeted down and put his head on John's stomach.

"You could just think on the sofa," John complained gently as he stroked Sherlock's hair.

"We won't both fit," Sherlock sounded disgusted by the fact.

Then all of a sudden he froze. A second later he started smelling, carefully as if John suddenly might break.

"Is it…" John suddenly felt wary. "Another heat?"

Sherlock shook his head, getting off of John and nuzzling around his stomach. Then he let out a long, happy noise.

"We're having a baby," Sherlock announced looking up at him.

"Oh."

* * *

"You said our child might be bearable," John said slowly as he sipped at his tea.

"I am sure it will be."

"You don't want to add anymore to that?" John asked slowly.

"It's ours," Sherlock said, as if that was all he needed to say.

Which, John supposed, perhaps it was.

* * *

He was dimly aware of what was happening.

"Shush," Sherlock soothed gently. "Slowly," he added, stroking down John's back. "Feel," he added, placing John's hands on his stomach. "Baby."

John nuzzled at his throat and slowed his desperate pace a little.

"Even slower," Sherlock encouraged.

John thudded his head to Sherlock's and tried to breathe and started to shake, suddenly aware of how sore he felt, how exhausted.

Careful hands kept stroking at his back.

John hissed when Sherlock thrust up experimentally and there was a sudden hitched breath underneath him as Sherlock quickly pawed at his face, lifting it up to see.

"John?"

Whimpering at the ache, John blinked away tears. "What…how long?"

Sherlock let out an annoyed snarl and looked up at the ceiling. He was almost shaking.

John tried to get off and panicked when pain flared. Sherlock's hands flew up and grabbed at his shoulders, keeping him down.

"The knot," he gritted out. "You can't…" he sighed and stroked John's damp hair. "You need to wait."

It hurt.

John leaned his head to Sherlock's shoulder and nodded.

* * *

Sherlock was silent for two days afterwards.

"It's not normal," John said quietly on the third. "Is it?"

"It's textbook," Sherlock stared out the window. "This is the effect of the suppressors after using them for that long and being that diligent about your bedmates."

"If I hadn't…" John wrapped his arms around Sherlock carefully, "I wouldn't have you," he said softly to Sherlock's back.

Sherlock covered John's arms with his own. "I shouldn't have…we were fine before."

"I don't want fine, I want you," John soothed gently. "We'll find a way. We always do."

It amazed him when Sherlock turned and buried his face in John's shoulder. "You never say things like this," Sherlock whispered.

Oh. "I…I'm just used to us not being that…sentimental I suppose. Sorry," he stroked a hand down Sherlock's back. "It never occurred to me that you might want to hear it."

"I do," Sherlock pressed a small kiss to his neck. "I…" he pulled back. "Is it worth it? You could go back on the suppressors, I could try to-"

"Don't be an idiot," John pressed a kiss to his hair. "I love you far too much for that."

Sherlock let out a long breath and John mentally kicked himself for not saying it sooner.

* * *

The next heat he woke up feeling surprisingly fine.

"What…what happened?" he asked a bleary looking Sherlock.

"Case," Sherlock announced, looking like death-warmed up as he pressed a quick kiss to John's head. "Have a bath. Use this," he said and shoved something into his hands before running out the door.

* * *

He was starting to show.

It was a curious thing really, having a baby. It had been easy to…not forget, but to just get on with things. The appearance of the bump made it feel more real. His doctor had checked everything over and declared him healthy enough.

"And the heats?" he asked. "We…they're still rather frenzied."

"There's not too much we can do," the doctor said with a sigh. "To give you anything now would just mean paying later on. And that could mean forgetting the baby during a heat or becoming violently protective. In all honesty, enduring it now is the best thing."

"But…" John sighed. "I still don't remember anything. Ever. And…Sherlock…he's torturing himself that he's hurting me."

The doctor looked uncomfortable. "Anything I give you will upset the natural biology. Any balance that you have gained will be erased. You said that the last heat was fine."

For John. Sherlock had looked like he might collapse.

* * *

Sherlock was avoiding him.

Great.

* * *

"You," John pointed at Sherlock as he stood over a body. "Here. Now."

Lestrade blinked at him, then looked at Sherlock. "You never mentioned you were going to be a father," he said, sounding put out.

Sherlock stared at John stonily. "Not here," he said dangerously.

"Where then?" John asked, folding his arms. "Tell me and I'll drag you there instead."

The officers were looking vaguely impressed. Sherlock did not.

"I am busy."

"Wonderful," John said sarcastically. "But you've told me many a time that you can multitask so we'll do it here then."

"John," Sherlock stood up. "Not-"

"Or," John said, icy cold in his rage now. "How about I invite the Inspector home for tea and some treats out of the breadbin you've hidden on the top shelf."

Sherlock muttered something under his breath.

"Because at the moment I am perfectly content to-" John broke off as a sharp jab pounded in his stomach. "Don't you start," he said warningly to the baby in his belly. "You and I will not be friends if you kick me every time your father does something stupid."

When he looked up, Lestrade was grinning at him and Sherlock was staring in awe. "It's kicking?" he breathed.

"Yes," John watched him come close. "Which you would know if you had been home in the past six weeks."

Sherlock reached out and splayed his hands over 'bump' as John had started to call it. There was another shift in his stomach.

God almighty if this child was as fidgety as Sherlock, John would never get any sleep.

"Why is there heroin in the flat?" John asked him quietly.

Sherlock raised his eyes from the bump and sighed.

* * *

"No," John slammed his hand down on the table. "Absolutely not."

"It dulls the instincts," Sherlock hissed. "I can stay coherent, I can resist when I use it."

John shook his head. "It's still flaming heroin, Sherlock. How can you even take the risk-"

"Risk?" Sherlock gaped at him. "Risk? How can I not?"

"Sherlock-"

"No." Sherlock leaned in close. "If I cannot control myself I could hurt you. I have hurt you. You are pregnant, you could miscarry, there could be complications. I could lose you both-" he pulled away violently. "I will not lose you."

"We have to let it balance out naturally," John said, hating the sight of Sherlock upset. "Next time you'll be worse, you'll-"

"Take more," Sherlock folded his arms, leaning against the wall.

"And when you eventually stop?" John asked. "We'll be back to square one. But with a baby in the house."

Sherlock didn't say anything.

* * *

The next heat John was fine and Sherlock staggered around the flat for days.

"Stop doing this," John begged him.

"No."

* * *

"What are we going to do?" John asked bump thoughtfully. "Your father is a pain."

He rubbed bump soothingly when the baby started to stretch. John was now quite proficient at leaning back and then pushing at his stomach to get the baby to curl up again.

It was flaming weird, but what else did one expect from the baby of Sherlock Holmes.

"He's worried about us," John sighed as it curled up again. "He'll be like that. He'll go to the ends of the earth to keep us safe, and then just a bit further to make it seem as if it was no bother." John watched his bump. "God knows how you're gonna put up with it kiddo."

* * *

John flushed it all down the toilet, his last coherent act just before his heat.

When he woke up he was in hospital.

* * *

"The baby?"

Sherlock stood at the window. "Bed rest. You almost…" he clicked his tongue against his jaw.

"But I didn't," John said gently. "We didn't. We're stronger than you give us credit for."

"And you're more valuable than you think," Sherlock said blandly. "I swear John, if you had died yesterday, I would have followed you by this morning."

"Come here," John whispered, lifting his arm.

Sherlock walked over obediently and curled up next to him on the bed, almost shaking.

* * *

"Do you know what it is?" John asked Sherlock as they curled up at home together, another nest built by Sherlock to ease John's inactivity.

"A baby," Sherlock kissed at bump.

"Do you want to know if it's a boy or a girl?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm so rarely surprised by anything anymore. I cannot deduce this. It would be…pleasant to discover it."

John nodded. "What would you want?"

"Normal," Sherlock replied without hesitation. "A beta. Healthy. With your smile."

John shook his head. "Your smile's better. I think," he stroked Sherlock's hair. "Hardly see it these days."

Sherlock shifted up the bed and kissed him. A long slow kiss that made John's toes curl and think longingly of the days where he could enjoy another body without becoming a wild bunch of hormonal instincts. "For every day you breathe, I'll smile," Sherlock promised fiercely.

"Sounds like a deal," John murmured.

* * *

They were due one more heat before the baby was born.

Privately, John could admit he was terrified.

* * *

Sherlock had started a hamper under the bed with breakfast bars and water.

"Tell me when you feel it," he whispered.

"Sherlock?"

"Now?" Sherlock sat up, instantly alert.

"No," John shook his head. "No…I…I wanted to say…I do love you."

Sherlock gave him the filthiest look and turned his back to John.

"Great reaction, thanks."

"You are not saying goodbye," Sherlock hissed, his back rigid in anger.

"What about if the baby survives and I-"

"It is not happening," Sherlock turned and roared at him. "It is a pointless discussion. Go and drink and eat, you might not get a chance for a while." And with that he flopped into sulking position no.3 and glared at the wall.

* * *

When John walked back in, Sherlock was trying his own ankles to the bed.

"What the hell are you doing?" John asked, stretching his back as he munched on some cheese on toast.

"Attempting to limit the damage. If I am face down with my ankles and hands bound, we will not be in an easy position."

"That's…" John sighed. "Sherlock…we'll be in heat for days. There are practicalities."

"And a bucket," Sherlock was kneeling now, ankles spread and bound as he studied a pair of handcuffs.

John wandered over to him and sat down beside him awkwardly; bump now hard to manoeuvre with. "You'll hurt yourself."

"One of me, two of you," Sherlock discarded the pair of handcuffs he was looking at and studied the next one. "Logic would dictate that this is better."

John watched him. "Can…could we…"

Sherlock nodded at him to continue, still doing his inventory of what he wanted from the handcuffs.

"Can I…" John stroked a daring hand along Sherlock's thigh.

The handcuffs were dropped to the bed with a thud as Sherlock stared in shock, then slowly nodded.

Oddly hesitant, John started to strip off. It was stupid being so nervous when they had probably had sex in every position known to man, but he was very aware of the fact that he was sharing his body with another person who was almost big enough to pop out.

But Sherlock watched quietly, eyes riveted on each bit of skin John produced.

"Big," John shrugged an apology as he got down to his underwear.

Sherlock nodded in a way that suggested it was a brilliant thing. "We'll be parents soon," he whispered, sounding slightly awed by the idea still.

John suspected they always would be.

Naked and so self-conscious it was pathetic, John climbed onto the bed to kneel opposite Sherlock. "So," he shot his mate a grin. "What can we do?"

"What do you want to do?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John studied him thoughtfully, then pushed him back a little. "I have no memory of you just enjoying us," John said gently. "Lean back a bit."

There was a certain amount of fear lurking in Sherlock's eyes. "I…what if-"

"Put the handcuffs on then," John suggested gently.

Soon after there was a click and Sherlock rested back on his bound hands, giving John space to explore.

He'd never really had a chance to explore Sherlock in any way. Slowly, he nuzzled at the cock that lay nestled in the wiry pubic hair and tasted it experimentally.

It tasted like Sherlock smelled.

A little bolder, John pressed small kisses to it and heard a long, content sigh from above him.

He could feel it building; the heat. Brewing and bubbling inside as it started to slick his passage. Feeling the clock was suddenly on them, John looked up, wanting to see Sherlock's face as he finally just enjoyed the sensation.

And sucked him all the way down.

Sherlock's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise as he tossed his head back with a strangled cry. His arms flexed as if he would have moved and grabbed at John's head if he could.

John kept the pressure up, enjoying the sheer joy of being able to watch Sherlock and control his own reactions. Humming in a pleased manner, he added his tongue to what he was doing and watched Sherlock let out a strangled cry.

Then shake his head.

"What?" John pulled off quickly.

"You need…you need to work yourself open." The muscles in Sherlock's neck were bowed and taut. "Lube's in the drawer."

"But…" John glanced over his shoulder. "I feel soaking."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and stared at what he could see of John's backside. "Show me," he whispered.

Flushing at the idea, John dipped his fingers backwards and pulled them back to Sherlock within seconds he was that drenched.

Sherlock stared at the fluid. "You're in heat?" he muttered, sounding baffled. "John?"

"I…" John wriggled at the sensation and lay he his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "I…need…"

Under him he felt Sherlock tense.

"What is it?" he asked, stroking Sherlock's sides. Under him, Sherlock pulled back to study his face.

Just the sight of him was too delicious to go to waste and John pressed their lips together in a long, slow, deep kiss as he tried to inhale Sherlock and keep him forever. Feeling how tense Sherlock was, John peppered him with sweet, sharp little kisses.

"Are you-" Sherlock broke off and tried to follow his gaze, which made the kissing a little trickier than it had been. "John? Talk to me."

John shook his head. "Better things to do than talk."

Sherlock let out a surprised gasp and some of the tension eased away. "You…you still need to go slow," he said nuzzling at John's hair. "The baby."

"She's fine."

"She?" Sherlock sounded stunned.

"Mm." John had more interesting things to do than talk about their daughter who was making climbing on Sherlock's lap harder. "Eighty percent sure," he added, some distant voice telling him to clarify.

"You…you deduced?" Sherlock asked, shifting a bit to give John more lap to sit on.

"Doctor," John muttered. "I tried not to look but…mmm. Your skin is delicious. Mine."

And with that he sunk down onto his mate.

"Slow," Sherlock whispered into his hair. "Slow."

And the mist descended.

* * *

He woke to a sharp pain that slammed through the fog.

Sherlock was on his front, hands still bound and ankles tethered while John was curled over him.

The pain thudded again.

"Ow," he hissed and then rolled his eyes at the bedcovers. "Jesus, these are soaking-"

A glance at the clock showed it had only been three hours.

What the-

Next to him, Sherlock stirred and started to shift, nipping at John's shoulder.

"Sherlock?"

The alpha started to pull at his handcuffs and wriggle, making an odd noise as he tried to get at John.

What? Why was Sherlock still-

Oh Jesus Christ he was in labour.

* * *

"Come here," Sherlock ordered, fighting the bindings now that he was kneeling up. "Mate," he snarled.

"Nope, baby," John paced the room, trying to steady his breathing. "Come on Sherlock, snap out of it. No heat hormones to react to now."

"Mine," Sherlock wriggled frantically.

"Doctor's coming-"

"No," Sherlock fought frantically. "Mine."

"God, you must despair of your vocabulary when you're like this," John continued to pace. "And you must really love me if you put up with what I can only imagine was mine."

"Mine," Sherlock seemed only able to focus on one thing. His wrists were red and starting to break at the skin from the cuffs.

Maybe…John thought about the heat they'd just experienced. They'd done so much better without fighting it.

Slowly, unsure if it was the right thing, he climbed up onto the bed.

"Yours," John agreed gently, cupping Sherlock's head. "The baby's coming. Can you feel it?" he asked guiding Sherlock's head to bump. "Can you smell that something's changed?"

Sherlock nuzzled at his skin contemplatively, then tried to duck down to John's rather uninterested cock.

"No," John said, almost amused. "Baby," he said, tugging Sherlock's head back up again. "It's coming."

"Ours," Sherlock mumbled into his skin.

Well…at least that was a different word. "Yeah," John nodded. "Ours. Our baby is about to be born. Early mind you, little brat."

"Ours," Sherlock sounded slightly offended by John's words. "Not a brat."

Thank god. "No, well, you wait. You might change your mind."

It took another five minutes for John to watch awareness seep into Sherlock. Suddenly he went rigid and started to smell in earnest.

"John," Sherlock looked up in panic. "You're in labour."

"No shit."

* * *

Sherlock bundled John in his dressing gown and walked him around the flat.

"Do you need water?"

"No, I need a doctor. Where is he?"

"I don't know," Sherlock glared at the window. "I don't want him here."

"I do. And I'm the one squeezing someone out soon so I get final say."

Sherlock growled under his breath. "I said I don't want him, not that we don't need him."

"Sherlock, it may have escaped your notice, but I am not in the mood to pick up on your subtle nuances," John snapped.

* * *

The doctor arrived and within twenty minutes John was on the floor in their bedroom, panting as his body prepared to birth.

"You're fine," Sherlock whispered as he sat behind John, legs splayed open with John's legs hooked over his. Their hands tangled together over bump.

"I'm bloody fantastic," John gritted out. "God, why is this taking so long?" he groaned, thudding his head back against Sherlock's shoulder.

"It's your first labour-" the doctor started to explain as he examined John.

"First?" John breathed looking down. "You think this is happening again? He can do it next time," he snarled indicating Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned, "I am not equipped-"

"I don't care. It's still more likely than me doing this again."

* * *

The pain was suddenly different.

"Is that normal?" John asked, panicked out of his foul mood. Behind him Sherlock suddenly became alert.

"It is," The doctor smiled. "Time to push."

"Fuck," John tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "You sure it can't stay in? It's his kid, it's gonna be bloody long."

"It will just get longer." The doctor sounded amused.

John turned his head on Sherlock's shoulder to press into his neck. "Sherlock-"

"Don't be such a baby," Sherlock muttered.

Laughing, John nodded and pushed.

* * *

John stared at his daughter, fascinated.

She was tiny, after all that. Tiny and utterly perfect. Behind him, Sherlock was so still it was as if he'd forgotten to breathe after she had been placed in their arms.

"We made this," John gaped. "We actually made this?"

Sherlock still just stared.

"She'll need to be checked over-" the doctor started to say.

Sherlock snarled, his arms tightening carefully. "You can't take her."

"I need to make sure she's healthy."

Sherlock made an odd whine of confusion as he pressed his head into John's, like a cat seeking confirmation.

John knew she was premature, he knew that they needed to check, but the idea of the perfect little girl leaving his arms was an utter abomination.

"Can…can you keep close?" he asked. "We were in heat-"

"I know," the doctor leaned forward to take her and John could feel just how tightly Sherlock had to restrain himself from reacting. "You can watch. I won't take her."

He took her from John's arms and he felt himself whimper. Sherlock moved, as if to retrieve their daughter, but John hissed from the pain of it and that seemed to be enough to get Sherlock to stay put.

"We need a name," John murmured, trying to distract them both as they watched the doctor check her little body.

Sherlock shook his head. "Can't think," he confessed.

* * *

John fed her by the bottle. Male pregnancy was unpredictable enough with lactating that it was always better to just use formula milk.

Sherlock paced the entire flat over and over again.

"You'll wear the floorboards out," John said gently.

He got no reply.

* * *

When he woke and wandered out to the living room stiffly, Sherlock was stood by the window, their daughter nestled in his elbow as she sat in the strange little chair formed by his arm.

"You look good like that," John said, carefully easing into a chair.

Sherlock smiled, a soft smile that John rarely saw. "You name her," he said to John.

"You sure?" John asked, watching Sherlock closely.

Sherlock nodded.

Shit. What the hell was he meant to call her?

* * *

When John told people what he'd called their daughter and how it had come about, most people raised an eyebrow.

But it had made Sherlock laugh, so who cared? And if one day he hoped their daughter shared that laugh about it, well, that would be all the better.

* * *

"Teagan Sevil Holmes?" Mycroft asked as he watched his niece the way one might watch an erupting volcano. "Loved?" he asked Sherlock. "Is that not the Turkish translation of the middle name?"

Sherlock nodded absently.

"But Teagan?" Mycroft looked at them both. "Why?"

"I thought Sherlock had suggested a name," John said stroking his daughter's soft dark hair as she lay, content in Sherlock's arms. "I liked it. Turns out he was just asking if I was making tea again!"

* * *

It took until Teagan was sitting up for John to have a heat again.

* * *

"Sherlock," he murmured against delicious, sweat soaked skin. "More," he begged, arching his back to get the cock to touch the right place.

"Always," Sherlock whispered, keeping the pace deliciously slow.

"Love you," John kissed his lips and squeezed his muscles down, making Sherlock gasp.

Finally.


	2. Quiet Times

Quiet Times

Summary: For whatever reason, Sherlock's instincts don't quite seem to work for the baby, which scares the life out of him. Or, Sherlock's pov of the previous chapter and beyond!

* * *

This is a little more explicit, so all the warnings for before should be taken seriously.

* * *

**Quiet Times**

When Sherlock had first met John Watson the man had looked as ordinary as a former army doctor with PTSD and a lust for danger could look.

As always, he avoided getting too close. John was attractive enough without risking their friendship by touching him too often.

But every so often, when he was sure of his control, Sherlock would graze his hand across John's back or get close enough to feel his warmth.

* * *

The night after he had realised John was an omega he didn't go back to the flat. He didn't trust himself one little bit to do it. Instead he paced the park.

How? How had he missed it? John smelt like nothing which meant he was on suppressors. He must have been on them most of his life to smell so bland, but, surrounded by the teenagers spiking heats, some of it had triggered a little something in John. Enough to come out in his sweat as he had picked up and handled the mints before chucking them to Sherlock.

And, what he could smell, told him that John would be delicious.

Years ago, Sherlock had dismissed the idea of sex. Omega's were able to have some sort of a sex life outside of an alpha/omega bond if they wanted but alphas? It wasn't worth it. The frenzy, the possessiveness could only be tempered by an omega's scent otherwise it was like trying to make a model out of water. The alpha instincts would try and try to elicit a heat and would barely rest until it had happened.

And the omegas that wanted to be bonded were usually dull, young and inane.

But John? John? He could run beside him. He wouldn't cow and bend to his will. In fact, Sherlock was starting to have a rather concerning thought that most of the time, despite the way it looked, it was in fact Sherlock that bowed to John.

He wanted him.

* * *

His future mate was stupid.

Utterly stupid.

He'd paid the bills, he'd cleaned the flat. He'd been cordial all week between a case and had showed his brains and capacity to protect John.

John had ignored it all.

Stupid.

* * *

_"I need…can I think? I need to-"_

_"Process? Yes," Sherlock nodded. "Good."_

Good? Why had he said good? He needed a time frame.

Exactly what was John unsure about? Not that Sherlock was complaining – it was very John like to want to know what he was getting himself into and acknowledge the dangers he would soon be enjoying but…Sherlock still wanted to know what it was that John wanted to see.

Acting one way might dissuade John. Best just to put it from his mind and get on with it.

* * *

Their bonding ceremony was simple and to the point which was good.

* * *

"Sherlock," Mycroft took him aside. "Have you thought this through?"

Sherlock let out a long disappointed sigh. "I was hoping your present would be your silence on this matter."

"He has never been off the suppressants," Mycroft warned. "You will both have very little control when your instincts take over."

Whatever.

* * *

It had to be perfect though. This was to be their first heat together, everything had to be planned, every eventuality accommodated for.

He hadn't planned.

So he did, even though John looked bewildered when Sherlock took himself off to his room that night and locked the door.

* * *

He gathered up any material that would comfort John when his ability to scent returned and built up a curtain with it to surround them during the heat to let John feel secure. He asked John to go off the suppressants; silently vowing that he would stay away for the week it would take John's body to flush the drug from his system and build up to a natural heat now that he was in the constant presence of an alpha.

* * *

Slowly John's scent started to change. Delicious, heady, intoxicating.

It took all of his will power to keep himself at bay and not just toss John on the table and rut.

* * *

It was easier to leave the flat, but he almost left it too long. The moment he opened the door, the smell of John cloyed at his senses.

Mate.

Now.

John was a mess when he found him; wet from the shower and still burning hot. His mental faculties were starting to fade and instinct was taking over.

Almost picking him up, Sherlock tugged him through the door and onto the bed, stripping as John curled up against the covers.

It was so hard to not pull at the dressing gown, to finally see what was underneath the robe, but the alpha in him crooned happily at the fact that John was wearing his clothes and had been pawing at his door and that was enough to hold it off.

"Hot," John whined as Sherlock spooned up against him.

"You have a few hours left," Sherlock kissed his neck.

John wriggled and seemed to struggle to get comfortable.

Soon.

* * *

When he woke from the haze, he was still inside John, though soft as his mate slept sprawled out under him. Sherlock moved, trying to pull away.

What had happened?

He had no memory whatsoever of the past…he looked at the clock.

Two days?

That didn't happen. That wasn't meant to happen. Instinct was meant to take over yes but not to such a detrimental effect. Panicked, he pulled away and John whined in response.

John.

Feeling a sinking horror in his chest, Sherlock tried to look at John's hole, needing to know if he had hurt-

Blood.

Sickened, Sherlock sat back on his heels and took a proper look at his mate.

He looked wrecked. There were bites all over his scar where Sherlock assumed he had tried to tear at the flesh to remove a mark that wasn't his. There were bruises scattered all over him and his genitals looked red and sore.

His own were too.

Cracked lips-

When had they both last eaten? Drank?

He had failed to protect John.

* * *

John was still completely out of it. He tried to climb into Sherlock's lap, nails almost tearing at Sherlock's back to get him to enter John.

"Shush," Sherlock held the water bottle to his lips. "You need to drink, John. Please."

He missed him. He missed the usual wry eyebrow that should have answered him as John found some humour in Sherlock trying to play nursemaid for once. It was still John but it was pure omega. Not an ounce of the human that Sherlock loved so much.

But he was obedient. To a point. He tipped his head back and sucked at the bottle, baring his throat submissively.

"Good," Sherlock pressed a fluttered kiss to the bobbing adam's apple. The praise made John drink more and Sherlock pulled it back, not wanting to give John too much in case he couldn't keep it down.

Unfortunately, the second he removed the water, John started to rock into his lap. Only the image of the damage that had been done kept Sherlock from responding in kind.

"No," he pushed John back gently. "Lie down."

John flopped back and raised his hips hopefully. Taking advantage, Sherlock reached for the lotion he had grabbed and started to scoop a wad onto his fingers.

John arched and almost yelped when Sherlock's finger breached him. Confused dark eyes started down at him, as John battled with pain and lust, torn between the two and unable to reason.

"You're sore," Sherlock whispered, pressing a reverent kiss to John's thigh. "No more, not now."

But lust seemed to be winning out and John started to wriggle and writhe on his fingers, hissing a breath every so often when the angle got painful.

He hadn't wanted this.

He'd wanted slow, savouring. He'd wanted to know every inch of John and have him sigh in pleasure and scream in orgasm. He'd wanted to hear the dry wit, the reassuring jokes and awed compliments.

It took a day to get it back.

* * *

That night, after the heat, John just thudded into bed next to him as if nothing had happened.

"Will you be sleeping tonight or is this going to turn into how long can you keep me awake by accident?" John asked with a yawn.

He'd expected…anger or tears. Fear.

But John was John. He was never scared or foolish. He was the bravest man that Sherlock knew.

And he was his now. His omega, his human.

His John.

All his.

* * *

And the baby's.

He could share John with the baby.

It was theirs.

* * *

After the second heat it was obvious something would have to change. Sherlock could remember some of it now and it had been…

Excessive.

Rough.

So good.

So bad.

At night he would wake sometimes from the image of John, sitting on his lap, back to chest, arching over him as he almost screamed when Sherlock pounded his prostate and bit down on his arched throat.

And then the other images, of John on his hands and knees, trying to escape the knot because it was starting to hurt, his instincts starting to kick in to protect the baby. But for whatever reason, Sherlock's alpha nature wasn't getting it.

He needed to claim.

They had been lucky this time. Lucky that John didn't remember why it had been worse, that he didn't feel fear when he looked at Sherlock or worry about his reaction to the child.

It was baffling, because if there was one possible thing that Sherlock loved as much as John it was the person they had made together, growing inside his mate. He already adored this baby, couldn't wait to meet it, to see it grow and change. To pick out bits of John, to see something original in this life they had created.

His alpha nature should be agreeing. Should be reverent and truly pathetic trying to nest and protect John.

Something had to be wrong.

* * *

"John hasn't settled to it yet," the doctor said simply. "Your alpha instincts know that something is wrong and are trying to fix it the only way they can."

John looked away and out the window with a sigh. "Possessive?" he asked Sherlock.

"I…" Sherlock stared at his hands. "I wasn't aware-"

"No," John shook his head. "I was just…you won't hurt us. I know you. You'll push it, but you won't hurt us." He flashed a grin at Sherlock. "Unless I steal one of your precious mugs."

He loved him so much.

But he didn't share John's faith.

* * *

Heroin killed the rising instincts and allowed him to just watch John almost cry in frustration as he fucked himself desperately on Sherlock's fingers.

He would give anything to have John make a joke during sex.

* * *

John was a doctor. And a damned good one too.

So it made sense to avoid him until the obvious signs of drug use had faded away.

But at night, when he crept back in to curl around his mate and their child he would see how much John had grown, the way his belly curved as their baby grew without him.

"You'll be safe," he promised the little thing. "You and your daddy. I'll make sure of it."

* * *

They argued about the drug use repeatedly, but when the next heat came and went and John wasn't hurt or dehydrated or starved, Sherlock's mind was made up.

John's was too apparently.

He flushed the heroin.

* * *

When he woke it was to blood in his teeth and John laying limp on the bed, his breathing shallow and thighs streaked with red.

He was still hazed, he could feel it. Even as his mind screamed, his body leaned forward and sniffed at John curiously.

Baby.

Child.

His.

John's.

Mine.

Hurt.

Mine.

John.

Sherlock scrambled for the phone, dialling, even as he reached for John's pulse and then placed a hand on the baby.

Neither moved when Sherlock waited for the ambulance, or when they were lifted onto the stretcher.

* * *

"There's a heartbeat," the doctor said. "You've a little fighter there."

Sherlock stared at nothing.

* * *

"Counselling?" he spat in disgust. "I do not need counselling."

"Really?" John asked doubtfully. "You look guilty as shit."

Because he was. "I am fine."

"It wasn't your fault," John said with a lingering look as he stroked his belly. "I should have warned you."

"Never talk to victims of domestic abuse," Sherlock muttered. "You'll be saying it was your fault for annoying me next."

John walloped him over the head. Hard.

Then did it again when Sherlock turned to glare at him.

"Don't be so frigging stupid," John growled at him. "I've seen the mess I make of your back, the limp you have afterwards. Now eat your dinner or I'll start bringing therapists home with me."

* * *

The first time Sherlock saw the baby stretch out, John was just entering his eighth month of pregnancy.

"What's it doing?" Sherlock yelped, scrambling backwards and away from the strange sight.

"Hm?" John asked, engrossed in his book as his stomach morphed shape. He was spread out on the bed, lying almost flat with an arm ducked under his head.

"The baby."

John looked down and rolled his eyes. "It's doing an impression of you in bed," he muttered, turning a page. "It'll get comfortable again in a bit.

Sherlock gaped at him. "It doesn't bother you?"

John shook his head. "I'm the size of a whale. There comes a point where you give in and accept that baby is in the driving seat and will be sending me to the loo every ten minutes and ensuring that I have the most amazing stretch marks on the planet."

Curious, Sherlock edged a little closer and studied it. The baby had indeed spread out and was slowly starting to curl back in. John sighed and lowered a hand, gently encouraging the baby's limbs into a better shape.

"I didn't know they did that," Sherlock breathed in awe.

"Some don't. Most don't. We just happen to have a claustrophobic child." John wriggled a bit and resumed his original position. "Can't imagine where it gets that from."

* * *

Their daughter was born in the middle of an aborted heat. Beautiful, perfect and tiny. The little person that he had watched fidget in John's belly was suddenly staring at him with thoughtful eyes as if trying to decide whether she was happy with the set up.

"You name her," he said to John.

He couldn't imagine anything that would fit her.

* * *

He'd tried to take all the feeds and the night take cries to give John a rest. Now that she was out, Sherlock could do his fair share and it seemed only right that John get some recuperation time.

But, a week in, Sherlock fell into a deep sleep, exhausted and when he woke he was alone in the bed and John was out on the sofa with their daughter on his chest, watching morning TV.

"Morning," John yawned up at him. "Sleep well."

More than he had intended to. Sherlock nodded and pressed a kiss to John's lips as he scooped the baby up.

"Name?" Sherlock asked, as he had done every morning.

"You want to do it?" John asked grouchily, sitting up and popping his back a little.

No. he didn't even know where to start.

John went to make tea.

* * *

As the forth cup was trained in three hours and John stood, Sherlock glared at him as he played the violin for their almost sleeping daughter and then looked down at her drooping eyes that seemed determined to watch him.

"Honestly," he breathed down at her, shaking his head. "Tea, again."

"I like that," John said turning mid-way to the kettle a slow smile crossing his face. "That's lovely actually."

The man had the strangest ideas about tea.

* * *

John sat down as Sherlock finished the last notes of the lullaby, hands wrapped around the mug.

"So…" John grinned up at him. "What do you say? Teagan Holmes?"

Sherlock stared at him, mind lost for a moment and then suddenly he replayed their earlier conversation and, for what felt like the first time in years, started to laugh until he almost cried.

"What?" John's lips twitched. "What's so funny?"

* * *

As John's next heat approached, Sherlock stared thoughtfully at Teagan who currently was occupied with her own toes.

To be fair, if one was going to start taking an interest in the world, toes were a good place to start.

He had been better last time. The heat that had started just before John had gone into labour had been gentler, but that could have been because they had been so close to the birth.

It was impossible to predict what would happen.

* * *

"Do you think we should give her to Mrs Hudson?"

John glared at him. "You wouldn't even let Mycroft hold her."

That had been Mycroft; he'd been an exceptionally clumsy child. As if Sherlock was going to risk their daughter with his brother's lack of balance.

"What if…" he looked at Teagan who was sat in John's lap with her back to his chest as John held the bottle. Already their daughter was trying her best to hold it. "What if we forget about her?"

John snorted. "As if it's possible to ignore any member of the Holmes family."

* * *

"New plan," John announced stripping off.

Sherlock froze. "You're not yet in heat."

They had an hour, maybe two. Why was John-

"So? We can have sex outside of one."

"It brings it on you-" Sherlock raised his gaze to the ceiling as his mate slowly became more and more naked. "Do you ever listen to a word I say?"

"Nope." Sherlock could hear the smile in John's voice. "Hey, I went along with the insane heroin idea, you do the same for me please."

"What about Teagan? Is she fed? Changed? Tired?"

"Ah," John climbed on the bed. "I dunno. I just chucked her in the sink and said a quick prayer."

Sherlock lowered his gaze. "That's not funny."

"Oh," John pushed him down. "I'm sorry, I assumed you were joking when you suggested that I didn't know how to look after our daughter."

That…was probably a subject best avoided now. "John-" Sherlock broke off when he felt how wet his mate was. "You're not in heat."

"I do have fingers and lube though," John smiled at him. "Any other objections?"

Sherlock stared, "I…you'll fade," he whispered. "It's harder when you fade away."

John's playful expression vanished and he stroked Sherlock's cheek. "I'm here," he whispered back. "Trust me."

"I want…" Sherlock frowned up at him. "I want…"

But John seemed to understand and he nodded, slipping down and onto Sherlock. The heat, the grip was exquisite and wonderful. He pressed his forehead to Sherlock's and they watched where they were joined together.

"Wow," John blinked at him lifting his head. "That's…Jesus."

Sherlock sucked in a breath. "You…make a joke," he begged.

The look he received was murderous. "Bit busy," John breathed.

Yes.

* * *

The haze, when it came was gentle. Like slipping underwater but still being able to skim the surface with ease. And they were aware. It was…wonderful to see John's eyes widen when the knot began to form.

"Good?" Sherlock breathed, kissing his neck gently, occasionally nipping to show how much he enjoyed the ease of submission.

"Big," John breathed. "Different."

"You've taken it many times before," Sherlock trailed kisses to his neck and thrust in deep, winning a deep throated groan in response. "Doesn't feel like it though," he added.

John whined a little. "More," he pleased.

"Always," Sherlock promised and then struggled not to swear when John clamped his muscles down. This…this connection…

It was perfect.

And, when they were knotted John shuddered and shook around him, gasping into his neck. "God almighty," he whispered. "How have I not remembered this?"

"It's better like this," Sherlock stroked his back as he pulled them both into sitting position. "I want to see you, hear you," he added when John threw him a startled look.

John arched and Sherlock saw stars.

* * *

Three weeks later, on a fantastically bloody crime scene, John stomped over the police tape and shoved Teagan at him, then walked off without a word.

Lestrade gaped at the baby, then at Sherlock, then at John's retreating back. "What did you do?" he asked nervously.

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure. Instead he adjusted his grip on Teagan, nuzzling at her hair to soothe his urge to go after John and turned back to the body.

"What…you can't…" Lestrade looked as if he were on the verge of an apoplexy. "New rule. Baby's and crime scenes do not mix."

"Why? Worried she'll solve a crime before you do?"

Teagan sneezed at the idea.

* * *

Sherlock dared to return three hours later to John, sitting in the armchair, drumming his fingers on the arms.

"May I ask what the problem is? Or will you thrust a baby at me again?" Sherlock asked, stroking his finger down his sleeping daughter's cheek as her head lay cushioned on her shoulder.

"Wait eight months and that's exactly what I'll do," John snapped.

Sherlock nodded.

Apparently John was still in a foul mood then.

* * *

Oh.

Sherlock sat up straight in the middle of the autopsy and turned to John who was watching the proceedings stone faced while Sherlock had tried to peer over Molly's shoulder.

"Eight months?" Sherlock breathed.

John nodded. "Yes, you are very virile," he muttered. "Congratulations you arsehole."

* * *

"Do you not want it?" Sherlock asked, worried as they left Bart's.

John stopped in the street. "I…I…a year ago I had accepted that I would never have any of this. Now I'm bonded with a baby and another on the way. And I'm still not wildly keen on the whole pushing aspect of this," he added with a dangerous look at Sherlock.

"But…" Sherlock hovered uncertainly. "Do you want it?"

"Yes. I just don't want to be pregnant." John rubbed his face. "Find a way to skip that part and the labour and just hand me the baby at the end would you?"

* * *

The next heat was…different.

The bump was tiny, barely noticeable at only three months, but Sherlock was fascinated by it. He had John on his hands and knees, stroking at the slight swell as he rocked very gently inside John.

"Not going to break," John gasped, trying to speed them up.

Sherlock spread out a bit, covering his back and nipping at his neck to keep John's thrusts in time with his own.

His mate. His family.

His to protect.

He practically worshiped the bump this time.

* * *

When the knot had gone down and John had drifted off, Sherlock stood and padded up to his daughter's room, naked. Picking her up, he took her down, putting a bottle in to heat as he went and laid her gently on John's chest.

His.

He nuzzled at her, smiling when her hands gripped at his hair and her little legs kicked out as she wriggled with delight. The movement seemed to wake John who lifted a hand and placed it on her belly to keep her steady.

"She been fed?" John asked sleepily.

"Heating the bottle," Sherlock said, ducking to kiss at their other baby, tiny and still being made.

The timer beeped and Sherlock pulled away, startled when John whined in protest and then let out a startled laugh.

"What?"

"We're still…you know…" John blinked at him.

"We have a family to look after," Sherlock sighed. "We can't shag all night, John."

When he came back in with the bottle, John had sat Teagan against the pillows and was lying on his side next to her, a hand close by to keep her steady and was kissing at her hands, making the baby giggle.

"Is this what you meant?" John asked holding his hand out for the bottle. "Between bouts?"

Unsure of what John was referring to, Sherlock nodded.

"If you have a case-" John started to say.

"No," Sherlock cut him off. "I have more pressing matters," he said imperiously as he knelt next to Teagan on the other side and brushed her soft hair.

"Yeah?" John asked looking pleased.

"Mm. I'm currently attempting to blackmail Mrs Tuner next door into letting us knock into her side so we don't have to move."

John stared at him, and then laughed suddenly. "And here I thought that you were mellowing," he grinned, sitting up a little and laughing further when the movement earned him a glare from Teagan. "God, I'm never going to have a moment's peace am I?" he asked with a laugh.

Probably not.

But they could occasionally have quiet. Quiet wasn't boring.

Quiet was precious.

* * *

Author's Note:

I figure contraception might be an issue so there won't be a huge gap between their kids until they decide that they don't want any more and do something a little more permenant. Not sure if there will be anymore here, but never say never :)


	3. Peaceful Times

Peaceful Times

Or, how Sherlock and John survived each other during tthe second pregnancy.

Thanks to the lovely lutz on a03 for betaing this :)

* * *

Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback for this and all the other fics I've been postng lately. I have comepletely lost track as to where I'm up to with reviews again, but all are very much appreciated and enjoyed, as are the favourites and alerts :)

* * *

Sherlock entered the oddly quiet flat with a certain amount of concern. When he opened the door he saw John, sitting in his chair with his head tilted back, five months pregnant and utterly still.

"John? Why-"

"Shush," John muttered. "You're spoiling it."

Spoiling what? Perhaps John had got the hang of thinking through a puzzle and was enjoying the experience.

It seemed deeply unlikely though and Sherlock had experienced enough of his mate in a 'slightly' hormonal mood to know that on occasion it was best just to leave John to it.

Besides, he had been given some lemons by a grateful old woman (she grew a tree) and was eager to see what his daughter's reaction would be.

"Where's Teagan?"

"In our room," John said, still not moving, his eyes shut as he breathed in deeply.

Xxx

She wasn't.

His heart nearly broke through his chest as he raced back out. "John," he said frantically. "Where did you leave her?"

"Under the bed."

Under the-

"Why?"

John shrugged. "I'm out of custard creams," he said, as if that made some sort of sense. "And peanut butter. You were meant to buy some."

He had important things to do and venturing out willingly to mingle with the subspecies that shopped at the Spar down the road was not one of them.

But John didn't seem willing to offer any more information, so Sherlock walked back into their room, got on his hands and knees and lifted up the quilt to peer at the gap between floor and frame.

There, sure enough, was Teagan studying a soft bear. Their bed was high enough that his daughter was sat up, her dark wild hair starting to curl just a little at the ends.

"Come here," he ordered.

Teagan let out a pleased noise at the sound of his voice and thudded the bear on the floor in a welcome rhythm.

"Here," Sherlock repeated.

But, as if happy that she'd greeted him, his daughter returned to the bear.

Frowning, he lay on his front and reached his hand under the bed, as far as it would go.

Nothing. She'd managed to get right in the middle of the damn thing. With a long sigh, he eased out and stormed off back into the living room.

"She's under the bed," he accused John.

"I know. Peaceful, isn't it?" John asked, looking as if he hadn't even moved a hair out of place.

"The bed could fall on her."

John cracked open an eye lid, "If that thing can manage us bouncing around on it then I'm sure it can cope with its usual burden of a pillow and duvet."

"Go and get her out," Sherlock demanded.

"Go and get my biscuits and I will," John said frankly.

"You have become so lazy," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

Both eyes cracked open at that. "Really?" John asked, glaring now. "And you don't think there's any correlation to the fact that you keep getting me pregnant?"

"Two is hardly a 'keeping' you pregnant. The next one would be-"

"Next one?" John sat forward.

He was either now the sole occupier of John's attention for a good reason or a bad reason. And given John's reaction to the second pregnancy…

"You don't want another one after this?" Sherlock asked slowly.

"Not really, no," John snapped, looking as if Sherlock had just suggested willingly submitting to torture.

"So you will be having a tubecotmy after this?" Sherlock enquired.

John raised an eyebrow and then nodded at him pointedly.

"But I want more," Sherlock folded his arms. "Why should I mutilate myself to accomplish something I don't want?"

"It's less invasive," John looked dangerously close to getting out of the chair.

"You're practically out of the chair now. Fish our daughter out from under the bed so I can feed her these," Sherlock said, holding up the lemons.

John stood and in no way did Sherlock flinch from the expression on his face. "I am going for a walk," John said slowly. "You deal with it."

* * *

John should have known better than to have left Sherlock to his own devices. The moment he arrived back at the flat he could feel Sherlock's irritation at the situation.

And then saw the tools.

"What did you do?" John asked, panicked as he rushed into their room and checked on Teagan who was still under the bed. He pulled out the custard creams.

"I can't undo the bed, it might fall on her," Sherlock was pacing now. "She'll just have to live under there. Or come out when she wants to."

Stupid man.

"Look what Daddy got," John said, groaning as he lay down on his side and held out the biscuit to his daughter. "Yummy."

She stared at him and then at the biscuit with a rather Sherlockian look to her, as if deciding whether it was worth her time.

"Hm?" John sighed and put the biscuit in his own mouth, softening it a bit before he held it out to her again. "Look, all soggy now. Lovely and disgusting," he said in a sing-song voice.

Teagan let out a cheerful shriek and started crawling to him.

"You bribe her with biscuits?" Sherlock asked, having lay down opposite at some point to see what was going on.

"I'll bribe her with anything that works," John said, keeping his voice coaxing.

Sherlock looked at the packet and then started to examine it thoughtfully.

* * *

Teagan had not liked lemons.

But her horrified expression had made them both laugh.

* * *

John woke to Sherlock measuring his waistline.

"You'd better come up with something really quickly," John said slowly.

"I want to see how big the baby is," Sherlock said, as if baffled there could be another reason.

"We have the scan today," John yawned and tried to shift, then threw his hands up in mock surrender when Sherlock glared at him for daring to move. "They'll tell us all that."

"Yes, but I know hardly anything about our baby and I need to be able to tell if Dr Moorlands is a moron."

John lay back and flapped a hand at Sherlock in agreement.

* * *

Sherlock had missed out on Teagan's scans due to…circumstances. He had no idea how John managed in the room with the sterile smell and rather vicious looking equipment.

"We didn't need this when you gave birth," he said, inspecting it all.

"We went old-fashioned," John muttered. "By accident. Believe me, scrubbing the floor clean for the next month was not what I had planned."

Sherlock still wasn't entirely sure why John had bothered. It had been fascinating to document their daughter's birth by the stains.

"We finding out the sex this time?" John asked.

"No." He'd liked the surprise; it had made it that tiny bit more special.

"See, but I want to know and not looking at the screen will make my eyes ache so why should I put myself out for something you want to do?"

Sherlock reached over and covered John's eyes with his hand. "Problem solved," he said simply.

Under his hand, against the edge of his little finger, he could feel John try not to smile and laugh.

* * *

"How about I let you look and we have one more child?" Sherlock tried to bargain as the doctor snapped on some gloves.

"Nice try," John muttered. "Can you take your hand away, I'd like to-"

He broke off and let out a confused noise as Sherlock hissed down at the stupid doctor that had started to examine John without any warning.

"Away," Sherlock hissed. "Now."

She backed off, "I…I didn't want to interrupt," she said shakily. "You were talking-"

Sherlock prowled in-between her and John, not at all happy with the idea of letting her back. Once he was satisfied that she was staying away, he leaned down to John and nuzzled at his cheek. "Okay?"

"Just…" John shook his head. "Really wasn't expecting it. It's fine. You're fine," he called to Doctor Meadows.

"No," Sherlock pointed at the wall, without taking his gaze from John. "Stay," he ordered her, needing to keep her hands away from his mate.

John thudded his head back against the chair and muttered something under his breath. "I…can we not just do it and go. I have things to do. Just let the stupid woman back."

Then he blinked and sat up slightly. "Sorry, doctor. Stupid doctor," he shook his head at himself as he settled back. "Didn't mean to be insulting."

The door closed as she ran out and John sighed at the ceiling.

"You are so rude sometimes," he muttered at Sherlock.

* * *

After a truly disastrous month, John reckoned he deserved a drink. Or at least the chance to watch others drink.

"I want to come," Sherlock sulked with Teagan on his lap who, as if picking up on the mood, glared at him and then giggled. She did it a few times, as if to try and keep him in the flat by sheer cuteness.

"No, you don't," John said, stepping forward to awkwardly bend to kiss his daughter. "You want me not to go. We talked about this."

Sherlock muttered something derogatory under his breath and then slid back into the sofa, curling up around Teagan who pushed her hand onto his face, pulled the hand back, then smacked at Sherlock's cheek looking politely curious the entire time.

"That's your genes," John muttered hastily. "Not mine."

* * *

"Pretty omega whore."

John didn't connect the words to him at all when he walked away from the pub, feeling a little lighter than he had in weeks. It had been damn good to get away from it all.

Well…apart from pudding growing in his belly. So named because the little beggar had shown quite quickly and then stopped growing for ages, as if John had devoured one too many…puddings.

"Oi, breeder! We're talking to you," a sudden figure blocked his path. John looked up startled, then looked over his shoulder at the friend coming up behind him.

"Okay," he said, looking back at the first one. "And we're taking about what exactly?"

"I heard your kind gush, get all nice and wet."

"Mm," John looked over idiot number one's shoulder, "So do girls, if you try hard enough."

"What was that omega whore?"

God, it was like a b-movie. "I…Jesus, come on. I'm six months pregnant. It's not the easiest sex in the world, just piss off."

"We'll be nice to you, if you're nice to us," the one behind him promised, skimming a daring hand across John's arse.

John smiled tightly. "Really? Shame."

With that he kicked his knee up, catching the first guy between the legs, turned and grabbed the second one by the throat, pushing him back to the wall as he pulled out his gun.

Smiling, he aimed it at his head. "Still want to be nice?" he asked calmly. "Or can we agree that this is as far as we go for the night?"

Wide brown eyes nodded frantically. "You're meant to be…gagging for it."

"No," John rolled his eyes. "No. Just…stop watching porn you tosser." He switched the gun to aim behind him as he heard the other would-be-attacker roll to his feet. "Off you go," he said, gesturing with the gun.

"You-"

"Dr Watson," Mycroft's voice rang out. "Do you need a hand?"

"Not really," John said, stepping back and turning to his brother in law. "You?"

* * *

Teagan had fallen asleep in his lap as he studied the crime scene photographs. She'd done well, still not as good as John at soothing his thoughts and calming his mind, but she'd get there.

Frustratingly she was still a long way off of fetching things and helping him to order and conduct his thoughts.

The door downstairs slammed shut and John's feet were on the stairs.

"I need my phone," Sherlock called to him. "Text Lestrade and-"

Smells.

Sweat.

Adrenaline, arousal.

Snarling, Sherlock darted out of the chair, depositing Teagan in the little basket to the side as he went.

"Don't start," John said sighing as he walked through the door. "I handled-"

Sherlock backed him up, closing the door firmly behind his mate as he examined-

Two. Crowding his mate. Stupid comments (John had been amused and pained), physical altercation-

Someone had touched him.

There was a confused urge, not helped at all by his rational human mind. The urge to hunt down, kill, and display what happened to those who dared to touch what was his, to touch John and paw at him as if they had a right. And the other, furiously protective urge to satisfy himself that John was all right and look after him.

"-it," John finished with a sigh. "Your brother was very put out; I think he was hoping that you would owe him a favour."

Mycroft had them? Sherlock tilted his head, weighing it up.

Mycroft could find them again. They could wait.

"Shower," Sherlock demanded. "Now." He stepped away to put Teagan into her room, herding John up the stairs as he did.

* * *

With gentle, careful hands, Sherlock washed the entirety of John, taking care to softly stroke the delicious, damp skin and to check every inch of him for a bruise.

Knee and elbow. Defensive…No…attacking wounds.

His brave omega.

Pleased, Sherlock dropped to his knees, licking at John's arse and felt John gasp and the rock into the touch.

He needed to erase them, now.

They'd settled down enough that any sex just brought on the faintest micro-heat. Not enough for them to have sex without lubrication and (wonderfully) light enough that they barely lost themselves to their instincts. And John wasn't due for a full heat for another three weeks.

Strange, it was the first time that he had wished it wasn't the case, that he could smother John for days and lock their little family away from the world while his more animalistic instincts ran wild and made him snarl down at people that got too close to the window.

So, instead of burying himself in John, he reached around and pulled at his cock, keeping his tongue and the fingers on his other hand working, until his wonderful John let out a strangled cry.

* * *

An hour later he curled up around John in bed, twisting the duvet until they were wrapped up and no-one could touch John without Sherlock knowing it.

"We'll get hot," John warned, as Sherlock stroked his swollen stomach.

"Don't care," Sherlock replied moodily.

Gently, John pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'm fine. We both are."

"It hasn't kicked yet," Sherlock said, brushing his thumb firmly against the bump. "I want it to kick."

"It will," John said easily. "Maybe it's just as lazy as you."

"Or as complacent as you," Sherlock replied, breathing John in deeply.

"Or both." John actually winced at the idea.

"Well…maybe we should have another one afterwards in case this one inherits all our bad traits."

"Are you kidding?" John replied with a smile. "We'd be too busy trying to do damage limitation to ever procreate again."

Probably.

* * *

"You name this one," John said in bed one morning.

"Hm? The case?" Sherlock asked, crashing down next to him. They'd been on a case for five days. Five whole days of listening to John snap at anyone who asked, with some concern, why he was at a crime scene. By now Sherlock could almost repeat by rote the way John snarled out that he was only pregnant and not a neurotic invalid who couldn't let their other child out of their sight for three minutes.

It had turned out to be a rather dull speech the after the sixth time it had been used.

"The baby. You name it."

Sherlock didn't sleep all night.

* * *

"Why are you Daddy?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"I push them out, I get dibs on what they call me," John answered, back aching now that he was in his eight month and Teagan had started to crawl around like a lunatic.

"What am I then?"

Uh…John tilted his head. "Why are you asking?"

"She's starting to think about talking," Sherlock said, nodding at Teagan. "I would like to give her something to call me."

"What do you want to be called?"

Sherlock seemed to hesitate. "I…I'm not sure."

"Well…" John sighed as Teagan tried to crawl into his non-existent lap while he sat on the floor. "I mean there's just Dad-"

"Would you not expect them to change to that when they are older?"

He had…but he could sort of accept that it was a bit unfair to Sherlock to get both the common names. "You could have it," John offered.

"I can't see you as a Daddy when they grow up," Sherlock said after a moment's pause.

"Right….well, it's an offer," John said, slightly agreeing with him, though he supposed it would become habit. "Uh…papa, pa, da, pops, father, pater-"

Sherlock frowned.

"Have Dad," John said with a smile. "We'll figure out the rest later. Our kids should be moderately intelligent at least."

* * *

The due date came and went.

And so did John's patience.

"How do I get it out?" he asked the doctor frankly.

"The baby will be born when it's ready, you're only four days overdue-"

John hissed in annoyance and the doctor backed away.

Sherlock looked reasonably tempted to try the same.

* * *

"Go and get me the hottest curry that Sultan's have," John demanded, thinking of the shop twenty minutes away that Sherlock hated because he claimed they concentrated more on blowing your tongue off than the taste.

"They're wives' tale's," Sherlock started.

John gave him a look.

Miraculously, Sherlock obeyed.

* * *

"You did say with Teagan that you wanted her just to stay in and not be born," Sherlock pointed out.

"She was early," John complained. "This one's just growing and growing. I'll give birth to a toddler knowing my luck."

* * *

A sharp jab in his ribs woke him up.

But Sherlock ignored it and just obediently moved to give John more room.

Another jab.

He moved again, hugging the edge of the bed now.

"I'm not in the mood for stupid games," John gritted out, sounding pained.

Sherlock snapped his eyes open.

Oh god please let it be coming. He was three hours away from strangling his beloved mate.

"Sherlock," John gasped, sounding as if something was causing him pain.

Whirling around, Sherlock peered over his shoulder at John, who was bent over the bed and clutching the sheets.

"Labour?" he asked.

"How did you guess, you should be a detective," John hissed out. "Ow…bloody hell…" His eyes widened and he stared at Sherlock in horror.

"What?" Sherlock darted up and forward. "What is it? Have you called the doctor-"

"I think…" John looked down and wriggled. "Jesus Christ this is coming quick."

"You have called the doctor?" Sherlock asked, panicked.

"Rush hour," John shook his head. "Be a while."

* * *

The minute John lay down and let Sherlock have a look it was bloody obvious the baby was coming and it was coming now.

"Get me in contact with someone who can get to the flat in five minutes to deliver this child," Sherlock snapped down at Mycroft.

"I can get someone who can talk you through it," Mycroft offered.

Oh.

No. He couldn't-

"Sherlock," John said, sounding panicked.

But apparently, he was going to have to.

Xxx

As Sherlock pulled him free from John and wrapped him in a blanket, his son blinked up at him as if confused by all the fuss. Then, with a rather long sigh, went to sleep.

Stunned, Sherlock sat back properly and stared down at the baby.

That sigh was all John.

"Is it all right?" John asked, sounding tired and worried.

All Sherlock could manage to do was nod, the crawled forward to show John their son. He watched as John bent his head down and nuzzled at the baby's cheek.

"It's a boy," Sherlock whispered. "One of each."

He expected a quip, or for John to seize the opportunity to rant at him about how there would be no more, but John just raised his head and found Sherlock's lips with his own. "We have a son," he whispered. "And he has your mouth," John added with a laugh, looking back down.

Upstairs a cry rose, louder and stronger.

Teagan.

They both looked up and John laughed. "Thank god she doesn't have your sense of timing."

* * *

The baby was declared fit and healthy and entirely good natured about everything.

Sherlock stared, fascinated. Teagan was a wonderful blend of both him and John and he adored her more than words could say. His first born, blazing the trail and leaving Sherlock gaping at the things she did.

But the baby…there was so much of John in him, even at this stage. And Sherlock had helped him into the world. He couldn't wait to show it to him. And to Teagan. Couldn't wait to see how his son and daughter would regard each other.

Two children. Two that he would die for and be bored for, yet already they were different little people who he loved in different ways.

He still desperately wanted to see what a third one would bring.

* * *

"Name?" John asked, wincing as he sat down the next morning. Sherlock seemed to have surgically attached himself to the baby the moment he had been born and was currently holding the baby's chin in the web between thumb and forefinger and rubbing his back in gentle circles with the other.

It never ceased to amaze John how well Sherlock had taken to fatherhood.

"Callum."

Of all the names John had expected (and secretly feared given the Holmes' track record of naming children) Callum was perhaps the last name he had expected.

"Oh," John said, staring at his son, trying to decide if it fit.

"You don't like it?" Sherlock asked as the baby…Callum? burped and looked utterly unimpressed with himself and then stared at John in fascination.

"I…why Callum?" John asked, curious.

"Because…" Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable. "He's so…you. And Callum means peace."

John tilted his head questioningly.

"And, it occurred to me, that with his nature…it might be the only bit of peace I can give you."

The smile that tilted his lips was burning in its happiness. Then John laughed and shook his head. "Probably," he agreed, watching them both fondly. "Teagan and Callum. Holmes," he looked up at Sherlock. "I have a terrible worry that one day we are going to be screeching that up the stairs at them."

"Well…then our other children will feel left out," Sherlock said, placing a kiss on Callum's head.

John smiled and gingerly got to his feet. "Don't push it," he said as he wandered off to text Lestrade that Sherlock might not turn up for a few days because there was a baby, not because he'd decided to explore the tunnels in London again.

* * *

P.S. Baby's first lemon on youtube is hillarious. Almost worth having children for...or just being really lucky and having much younger sisters for ;)


	4. Trying Times

Trying Times

Chapter Summary: This time John has to make a decision about whether he wants another child. The results may not be quite what he expected.

* * *

Thank you so much to lutz for betaing this again :)

Also, Teagan is 14 months older than Callum is. She's born in September, he in the following November.

And (last one I promise) there is plot approaching after this because I can't let things go. I need therapy!

* * *

Small hands gripped at his as he held them above her head and felt a little wobble. His daughter stopped, wavering back and forth unsteadily, staring up at him with his own dark blue eyes.

"Yes," she declared loudly and stamped her feet on the floor in excitement, completely ignoring her slight lack of balance.

John felt his own mouth twitch in amusement as he kept her steady and then slowly untangled their fingers so she was standing on her own.

He knew that she was quite late to start walking; Sherlock had been utterly livid when the midwife had looked her over and declared that she was a little behind. Instead, he seemed to have taken to the idea that Teagan just wasn't trying because she was surrounded by idiots.

Stepping back a little, he held out his hand to her. "Another go sweetheart, come on."

Teagan, in a show of stubbornness that was probably a combination of both John and his mate, stayed where she was.

"Come on Teagan, come and see Daddy."

Nothing. Instead, she sat down on her backside again and giggled at him.

Brat.

With a long sigh John turned to Callum who, at three weeks old, was sprawled on the rug in a very good imitation of Sherlock. Amused at the sight, John stroked his son's silky soft hair and rubbed that baby's full cheeks with the back of his knuckle as Callum let out a little snore.

The gambit worked. Teagan let out a rather unimpressed sound and crawled straight over. She really was Sherlock's daughter, unhappy when his attention wasn't directed at her.

To be fair, she was probably still getting used to the fact that she was no longer the sole focus of their attention. When she reached them, she used John's sleeve to pull herself up and then nuzzled her head under his chin as she stared down at Callum.

"Baby," she declared looking at John solemnly.

"Your baby brother," John encouraged. "Callum. Can you say Callum?"

She suddenly became fascinated with his hair, which he took as 'I have no interest in attempting that'. She shuffled forward to get a better grip.

"That's it," John almost felt like rolling his eyes. "Shall we get some biscuits?"

She knew that word well enough. "Bikets," she agreed happily.

Struggling to his feet, John reached down a hand to hers and held it tightly, walking forward. He half expected to have to stop but, to his surprise, she moved with him, a little wobbly but otherwise perfectly fine.

So he stopped and stared at her instead.

"You…"

Apparently nothing was getting in between his daughter and her biscuit because when he stopped she just let go of his hand and continued, albeit in a far more drunk looking manner. She started to pick up speed and he watched, trying not to laugh as she dashed forward then wobbled over.

He'd give her credit that she didn't immediately start to wail. Instead she sat herself up, inspecting her fingers as if to find some fault with them. But when she turned her head to John, he could see that her eyes had welled up with disappointed tears.

Scooping her up, he rocked her gently in his arms. "Well done," he soothed, stroking her hair back from her face, quite liking the way it was curling just past her ears now. "Aren't you clever today?"

She lay her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"Definitely worth a biscuit," John pressed a kiss to her head.

* * *

Three hours later Sherlock stormed in slamming the door behind him and waking up Callum and making Teagan stare as he threw himself at the sofa and sulked.

"Good day?" John asked picking Callum up with a sigh as the baby started to cry at being startled.

"Anderson destroyed the blood sample. I needed that sample," Sherlock said petulantly to the wall.

"You need it to solve the case?"

Sherlock turned to glare at him, "No, solved that. But it was syphilis, John. Syphilis!"

When John didn't gasp in sympathetic horror, Sherlock rolled back round to glare at the wall above the back of the sofa.

"Dada," Teagan pulled herself up and toddled over to him. Shushing Callum, John watched closely as Teagan approached Sherlock and then proceeded to grip the sofa's edge and as she prowled for a way to get to him.

"Teagan learned a new trick today," John said as Callum settled down a bit and started sucking at his top.

"Don't care," Sherlock muttered.

Glaring at his mate, John held out his hand to Teagan and twitched his fingers at her. With a sad look at Sherlock's back, Teagan toddled over to him until she held his hand. Ignoring Sherlock, John led her into the kitchen and started to heat up some milk.

Sherlock sighed loudly.

Still ignoring him, John handed the bottle down to Teagan who chatted to him in her baby language and happily started to drink, looking up sweetly as she guzzled her bottle, her big eyes darting around.

"It's not my fault Anderson is stupid," Sherlock suddenly said. "I lost an area of valuable research today; the least you could do is pretend to be sympathetic."

"Aw, poor you," John said with absolutely no effort to match his tone to his words. "Your daughter started to walk today."

Sherlock turned instantly. "She did? I knew that midwife was stupid-"

John raised an eyebrow at him and watched as Sherlock seemed to reconsider how he had behaved walking in. With a droop of his shoulders, he sat up and walked over, taking the bottle from Teagan and picking her up. Then he sat at one of the dining table chairs and popped her on his lap, letting her start to guzzle at the milk again.

Callum yawned and Sherlock seemed to find something about it amusing, because he ducked to kiss Teagan's hair, smiling. And, because she was utterly besotted with him, Teagan snuggled back and stared up at Sherlock adoringly.

Traitor.

* * *

Babies seemed to come equipped with hats. They also seemed to come with a hatred of hats, shoes and socks just to make life interesting. Never mind the fact that Sherlock hated the idea of a pram. They'd never even bought one when Teagan was born because Sherlock claimed they were too slow.

The children looked like little bundles of colour in their winter clothes, coats, gloves and hats.

When they managed to keep them all on.

John watched as Sherlock and Teagan played with the leaves, Sherlock's mouth moving as he talked to their daughter (probably about the way that leaves absorbed blood or something that would be equally hard to explain when she got to school and exchanged this information with her peers). It was warming to see his mate, in his long coat, scarf and gloves, sit among the leaves utterly focused on Teagan, as if there was nothing else in the world that could possibly command his attention.

Callum, feeding from a bottle in his arms as they sat a little away on the bench, stared up at him as if faced with some wonderful puzzle.

At two months old now, he was starting to show the same dark hair that Teagan had inherited and, amusingly enough, Mycroft's eyes gazed at him. Watching his son, John felt a slight twinge of jealousy that Teagan and Callum so strongly resembled the Holmes side of the family and not his.

Maybe…

The doctor's appointment yesterday had shaken him somewhat. He'd gone in to demand that he have some sort of contraception to stave off having another child for a few years and had been stunned at the news from the doctor about the new law that was being brought in.

Omega's after a certain age were to stop having children.

Surgery.

He hadn't told Sherlock – he could just see the indignant expression and damn it if John didn't agree with him. But the leaflet (worryingly cheerful) had tried to explain that four in ten male omega pregnancies over the age of forty never made it to full term. Two in nine had complications with far reaching medical risks.

John was thirty eight.

It had been stupid, he knew that, to assume that he had time to pick and choose when to have another child. So very few omegas waited as long as he had to start a family and those he knew had already had surgery to stop producing children, otherwise they'd be on their fifteenth child by the time they were John's age.

He wanted another one, he could admit that. He also wanted some time just to get used to the idea of the life he had now. Everything had been such a rush, such a blur that John barely felt as if he'd had time to breathe.

But if he waited…If he waited…

John looked up and over at Teagan who, steady on her feet now, was starting to dash around Sherlock in an excited manner causing Sherlock to laugh with a rarely unguarded smile on his face.

He wanted more. If Sherlock had his way, John half expected that they _would_ be on their fifteenth child before Sherlock called it quits. And, as difficult as his mood had been during Callum's pregnancy, John could admit that seeing Sherlock's eagerness had been soothing.

The chances of conceiving in a heat were 84%. His next heat would be in a week and he needed to make a decision…

* * *

Clever teeth nipped at his ear as John tossed his head back, feeling the knot grow inside of him as he arched so he could lay his head back on Sherlock's shoulder.

There was something about this position that Sherlock loved. It probably had something to do with how open it made John to be sitting on Sherlock's lap, feeling the man thrust into him as his hands wandered over John's vulnerable belly and cock.

Sherlock's hand seemed very interested in his stomach at the moment, softly stroking in teasing touches that left John shuddering.

He was oddly quiet though.

"More," John pleaded, baring his throat completely as his teeth tugged at Sherlock's ear. "Breed me," he said, the never before uttered phrase stumbling off his tongue. Behind him he felt Sherlock go still and then suddenly the arm around him pulled them as close together as possible.

"You…you want another one?" Sherlock panted, sounding delighted.

John nodded. "God yes."

* * *

He wasn't pregnant.

* * *

For days he put off telling Sherlock. Sherlock, who was so pleased by the idea that John actually wouldn't be able to 'blame' him for this pregnancy had gone around telling everyone already.

Arsehole.

But it wasn't that which made John hesitant. Sherlock was the idiot who had told people before it was confirmed, not him. No, it was more the fact that John was suddenly terrified that this was it; that his bearing days were already over.

He was old.

Older than Sherlock, unusual for an alpha and omega. And Sherlock was still wonderful and young-

Stupid, but not stupid enough that the small, nagging fear at the back of his mind would shut up and leave him in peace.

* * *

"There's no baby," John said two days later when Sherlock had finally come off a case high.

Sherlock's eyes widened in horror. "Did you-"

"No, God no." He hadn't even thought Sherlock might assume there had been a miscarriage. "I just…we didn't…I…there was never a baby."

The disappointment was visible on Sherlock's face. "I… after Teagan and Callum…" he sat on their bed, miserable.

That tiny, nagging voice grew a little bit louder. "Sorry," he said quietly.

But Sherlock was miles away and just nodded, clearly distracted by his own thoughts.

* * *

It was hard to sleep.

John knew enough about the fucking maddening omega instincts that had taken so many generations to suppress and it had always been a source of pride to him that he'd rarely been plagued by them. He'd never felt the need to be protected, to hide or submit with ease. He was damned protective of his children with a ferocity and aggressiveness that matched Sherlock's if necessary. And luckily, given that Sherlock was the most mercurial person on the planet, could make do without reassurance every five seconds.

But this? This failure to conceive? He could feel his omega instincts curling up in shame, especially when faced with Sherlock's want for more. It had been a different matter when John had vaguely assumed the children would come when he wanted it but now, with the knowledge that it might not happen, he almost sunk in misery.

And it made it impossible to fight off some of the other instincts that he usually ignored. All of a sudden dinner was on the table rather than a shouting match about whose turn it was to get a takeaway, John started to fret over the children, worried he might be doing something wrong rather than watch Sherlock do that with barely disguised amusement. He brought Sherlock a coffee without being asked, his phone without complaint and didn't make a single comment about the liver experiment on the table.

* * *

After three days of it, Sherlock cornered him in their room looking terrified.

"Are you dying?" he asked with wide, fearful eyes.

What? "No," John reached out to take his mates gloves but Sherlock yanked his hands back.

"Mad then?" Sherlock sighed, "What did I do that has infuriated you?"

"Nothing," John looked around for some way of being useful. Spotting a disordered pile of books, he started to sort through them, leaving Sherlock staring at him in confusion.

Tears blurred his eyes. Mortified at how ridiculous he was being, John stubbornly kept staring at the books as he organised them.

A hand covered his as Sherlock knelt down next to him and rested his head on John's back, his other hand slipping around John's waist and resting on his stomach.

John flinched and tried to pull away.

"Did you…Did you lie to me?" Sherlock asked quietly. "The baby, did you-"

"There isn't a baby," John snapped. "Never was and probably never will be." He yanked out of Sherlock's hold and stood up without a clue of what to do next.

"John-" Sherlock sounded utterly baffled. "I thought you wanted-"

"I do," John turned to look at him. "I want another one so much and I can't…" he swallowed nervously. "I'm old."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry?" he asked, sounding lost.

John stared at the ceiling, then scuffed his foot against the carpet. "I…they've introduced a mandatory…omegas over forty can't get pregnant."

Sherlock stiffened, suddenly looking alert. "What?" he asked in a dangerous voice.

"It's…" John took a deep breath. "Male omegas we…there are so many complications and most either have babies young or not at all. I…I can hear that fucking clock ticking and I'm not…nothing happened. Nothing!"

Sherlock looked more and more furious.

"And…" John looked away. "You want more children and I might not be able to give you that and you might lea-"

He didn't even finish the word before Sherlock snarled and darted forward, tackling him to the bed. Confused by the sudden movement, John blinked up at his mate in confusion.

"You have no idea how utterly insulting you're being," Sherlock hissed. "I want more of our children. I don't wish to go off and breed with some moron and have dull children. I want as many of our children as we can manage and if they," he nodded upwards, "are all we can manage then that's what we have."

"Promise?" John couldn't help asking.

Sherlock cupped his face. "This isn't like you," he murmured.

"Omega failing to conceive?" John sighed. "It's like the worst failure-"

Sherlock snarled again, took a deep breath and stood, grabbing at John's arm. Half dragging him up the stairs, Sherlock opened the bedroom door and they stood, looking down at their children.

"Failure?" Sherlock breathed, standing behind him. "How can you ever think that I would look at this, at them and think you failed?"

Tears pricked again. "You want more," he said slowly.

"Because it's fascinating," Sherlock said softly. "You and I have sex and create actual little beings that were both made in the same way and yet are so different. Unique. Why wouldn't I be eager to see the various ways our genes interact and create individuality, why wouldn't I want to see how much of you I can replicate in them? To keep your smile alive decades after we are gone?" Sherlock kissed his shoulder. "I would happily have twenty just to see the differences."

"That's not-"

Sherlock smirked. "I realise that. But I will probably always want just one more. That doesn't mean that I neglect what came before."

John closed his eyes. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

* * *

Five days after he talked to Sherlock there was a media backlash against the proposed law and within five months the idea had been overturned. Apparently they'd been trying to keep it quiet and diverted any interest onto other stories.

By that time, John was at a crime scene, tapping his foot as he glared at Sherlock.

"Never again," he said, pointing at him. "No more after this."

Sherlock grinned in delight. "Finally," he muttered, stepping over the body.

John held up two fingers, stopping Sherlock in his tracks.

To his horror, Sherlock's delight actually increased, even as Lestrade's head thudded onto a police car in pain at the idea.

"Twins?" Sherlock looked fit to burst. "Fraternal or-"

"You are not experimenting on our children," John warned.

* * *

Teagan threw a ball at Callum's head.

John watched as his son blinked at her and then rubbed his head before crawling away from his sister. Sherlock was pacing as he talked to Mycroft on the phone and Callum decided to join in next to him, back and forth, back and forth, though at a much slower pace than Sherlock, so at some point they ended up going in opposite directions. The moment John saw Sherlock spot it, his mate's mouth twitched with humour and he slowed, letting Callum catch up.

Scooping up the ball, John threw it gently at Teagan's head.

"Ow," she said, pouting at him.

"Then don't do it to your brother," John scolded her.

She got to her feet and wandered over, sturdy and confident when walking now. She looked more like a little girl now – her hair just scraping her chin and her features were decidedly elfin and mischievous.

"Up now," she demanded. "Dada talking," she informed him, as if he might have missed that fact.

"I can see," John let her up onto his lap.

"'More babies," she said sadly, patting his stomach.

"Last babies," John assured her. Even Sherlock had begrudgingly agreed that these should be their last ones. John supposed it was a good compromise.

"Mm," she said with an imperious nod.

"What shall we do tomorrow Tiggie?" he asked her, resting his chin on her hair.

"'Peremints," Teagan squeaked joyfully.

Experiments?

God help him.

Across, Callum was giggling with delight at the game he had with Sherlock now, who was stepping over him and conducting an odd game of chase while he talked to his brother. Clearly Sherlock was now only half listening to what Mycroft was saying because his voice lacked the sulky tone to it.

"He's not a puppy," John scolded, trying not to laugh at the sight.

Teagan threw the ball past her brother this time and John groaned in amusement as Callum abandoned his game with Sherlock to frantically crawl after the ball instead.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

* * *

So...Reichenbach anyone?


	5. Note - Sequel

Just a very quick note to let you know that the sequel to this is called "Emotiona Times" and I have just posted it (it can however take a while to show up, but it should be with you in a few hours!


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